


Blood and demise

by Shayochism



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 10:30:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6371290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shayochism/pseuds/Shayochism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She will die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood and demise

The appearence was horrific. Blood streamed over pale skin in small rivers, glistening as though close to freezing; that, it was in truth close to be. How any could survive in the deadly conditions was a mystery, especially as the only visible creature for miles was scantily clad - not that they had chosen to bare such clothing that revealed their flesh, but that any sense of covering that once existed had now been battered and torn away, leaving the subject vulnerable. The scraps of dull coloured leather could tell the tale of warfare against a beast.

As the elf, looking no more than a young adult, stumbled through the snow, it was clear she was lost yet didn't really care either way. If she could care. Eyes, round like dull saucers, darted around franctically, the gentle blue glow telling of a Quel'dorei untainted like most of her race. Yet, what was it now, that they had changed their name? The elf probably didn't even know, and if the word 'Sin'dorei' was ever muttered in range of her long ears, she had never paid attention. The elf, so, must have not been around their glorious capital. And she was far enough north that the creatures of the freezing temperatures have most likely never even heard of Quel'thalas.

Like over her gently muscular, athletic body, blood also trickled down the gaunt face. The bulk of the flow was not from the scratches and cuts splaid across the skin, but from a more worrying sorce - the eyes, nose, mouth. Something, clearly, was horribly wrong, and how the elf still moved, nevermind stood, was a mystery. 

The ever moving eyes, coupled with a wild expression, gave the scene all the more confusion. How had the elf gotten here, so far north and in a deadly area where death lurked? The only other elves sighted anywhere close were all dead in the snow, miles away, where a seemingly endless battle had taken place, the survivors scattered and still fighting for their lives. But this elf was alone. Far away. Moving without direction. If she had proper energy, her body would be twitching, fingers curling, teeth clenching and clattering as she grunted and snarled, unable to talk, nostrils flaring; that was how she had been for a while, and it was only the deathly chill of the snow, ice, being so far north, that numbed her toes and fingers to beyond feeling and lumbered her limbs with exhaustion. All she could manage now was a slight murmur, dragging her feet along like a clockwork toy.

'She is... beyond our help, I think. She is just like an animal. She can't even speak! The blood continues to run... her eyes... I know what has caused it. But how?'

'She was rescued from a party of Orcs from Anri'thela's expedition in Eversong and brought to the infirmary, unconscious.'

'Then... we will have to see if the Light can aid her.'

Only slight change had come to the elf in all her time amongst her bretherin, the same bloodied creatures that had brought her here. It had been a risk, but the battle had needed all it could. Yet still they had lost the fight. Surely, now, only a few living remained; for the time, that was. Their lives would come to close as inevitably as the damnation had come to their race, corrupting it.

It was cold. So cold.

The elf stumbled, almost falling, boney fingers grasping at the air the best the frozen digets could. If she had been out in the snow for any longer, surely she would have crumbled, becoming buried in the snow that slowly trundled from the heavens. The temperature was deadly, and it only felt to become more and more freezing, colder...

Crunch.... Crunch.... .... .... Crunch. Crunch.

The elf halted, looking torn between having stopped from exhaustion, from being close to blacking out from the sudden temperature drop, and from the sounds somewhere in front of her. The snow provided a slight cloak of sight all over the area as it brought about a vile, unnatural mist, shrouding the source of the sharp sound. It was too much to stand now and the elf's knees fell into the snow, almost burying her to the stomach. She landed with a crunch, telling the source of the invading sound was from snow being squashed.

What so approached the elf would be gifted with witnessing the death of yet another bloodied mortal of the far away kingdoms, to fall and succumb to the grave too early like the rest of her kind, left to rot or unceremoniously scavenged and eaten by whatever should find the corpse. A moment of clarity had the elf think of her dead body, if she died - dellusional she could never die - would be eaten by the things she had been forced to witness, the strange looking humanoids, people?, from her twisted imagination with claws and sharp teeth, rotting bodies. But she would never die. It just never registered in her mind that death would happen to her, too.

The elf tried to stand but found her legs not cooperating. 

"Nhrrrgh!"

The first sound loud enough for anything close to hear that had come from her mouth for the first time in a while. She reached for her legs that she sat on, finding her fingers uncoopertive also, fumbly and without feeling. It was annoying, and the continuous anger in her chest squeezed ever harder at her innards, at her chest. Her body wasn't listening to her - it was being troublesome, even though it shouldn't. It was betraying her. Though it was due to the cold, she did not think otherwise, thinking her body capable of being perfectly fine. That, or, like death, it had never registered she was mortal and capable of many-a negative things.

Whatever was approaching would see her as a feeble victim. As the blood begun to quite literally freeze upon her ever whitening skin, the red-hued eyes could quite now make out a large figure moving through the snow, closing in on her. Clad head to toe in plate, sending a deathly cold shiver down her spine, the creature - or person - was here to kill her, she thought. She could not allow that. She had to live, to find what, in the back of her mind, she so sought. To herself, though, she did not know her persuit was to seek something, nevermind anything. She had to stand up now. She had to fight off this thing, kill it, and continue moving, moving to somewhere she had no clue where it was. Her conscious mind was twisted either way, rendering her with an unusual thought pattern. Moving was all she could fathom to think about in the black sea of turmoil of her brain.

Her head dropped forwards, betraying her desire to look up, look at what now stood before her. It bobbed as her neck became limp. Exhausted. Too cold.

All she could see, then, as the thing arrived at her wake, were the skull patterned plate boots that crushed the snow and froze it upon contact, as if the owner of the boots was death itself spreading its unholy chill to anything close, a chill that compelled the elf, with a snap, to jut her chin up in one final burst of life to see what loomed above her, staring down, their eyes barely meeting.

Time seemed to pass slowly, drawing on. It could not be measured, like it stood like somehow. It was a little time before either side did anything other than stare.

If you can so stand, you can so serve.


End file.
